Skully
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Some trophies were more macabre than others. And not all wounds were physical.


**Skully**

"Ah, Tyrael. Welcome to my humble abode."

The former Archangel of Justice and Wisdom couldn't help but frown. Partly due to the tone of his former friend's voice – snide, sneering, and far too sarcastic, even for her. Partly because her abode, while humble, was not homely, cluttered as it was with various trinkets, foul-smelling concoctions, and what looked like the skeletal remains of demons, scattered around in some macabre fashion.

"You were expecting me?" he asked.

She smiled, though her lips were in the shape of a sneer. "Eyes and ears, my friend." She tapped her forehead as if that meant something. "Eyes and ears everywhere."

 _Wards then._ "May I come in then?"

"Have I not welcomed you to my abode? Come, come." She went back inside, leaving Tyrael alone in the gloom of the Sharval Wilds. Behind him, his horse remained tethered to a tree, letting out a sniff in the evening air. His steed appeared at ease, but he suspected that Valour would be happy to be free of this place.

So would he. But he had travelled across field, moor, and forest for a reason, and that behoved him to at least enter the "humble abode" of his former friend. One whom he had not seen in years, partly because she, like all the others he had once allied with, had scattered to the four winds. She, the mightiest of them all, who had slain the Lord of Terror and the Angel of Death over two decades ago. The one who had travelled from one end of the world to the next, slaying any and all that might do it harm. The one who, one day, had simply disappeared.

"How have you been, Li-Ming?" Tyrael asked.

"Li-Ming…" she whispered. She was in the midst of pouring something into a wooden cup, but when she looked at him, it was as if she was a mile away. "Yes…that is my name, isn't it?"

"I…believe so."

"Of course, of course!" she exclaimed, giggling as she finished pouring the concoction. "Yes, that was my name. The people though, they call me 'the Nephalem' or 'witch.'" She spat to the side of the cup. "What worth are titles, Tyrael? Can you tell me that?"

He remained silent.

"Hmm? No answer. Well, what of it?" She turned to face the former angel, offering him the cup. "Thirsty?"

The smell and look of the brown liquid was more than enough to get him to say "no, thank you."

"Really? Well, I can offer you something else. Perhaps-"

"Water will be fine," Tyrael said. He drew back his cloak, revealing the waterskin attached to his belt.

"Suit yourself." Li-Ming took a sip from the cup and took a seat on the ground, upon the hide of a furry animal that Tyrael couldn't identify. "Sit, sit. No doubt you have travelled far, with many a story worth hearing."

Tyrael did sit down, with a pace befitting a bird chiselling away at a mountain. Two decades worth of mortal life had taken its toll. His skin was harder. His bones tore away at him from inside. From his chin extended a beard flecked with the detritus of the world. This was mortality, he reflected, in all its aching, tedious glory.

"Comfortable?" Li-Ming asked.

"Fine," he lied. "I-"

"Hmm." Li-Ming raised a finger from her left hand, and in her right, took a swig of whatever concoction she had brewed. "Oh, that's nice. Not good enough. But nice." She put the mug beside her, wiping the liquid away from her mouth. "Tastes terrible of course. But it helps me sleep."

"You're having trouble sleeping?"

"Trouble sleeping?" She laughed, one that Tyrael could tell was forced. "Hardly. It's what happens when I'm asleep that bothers me."

"What do you-"

"Anyway," she said, clapping her hands together, hard enough that sparks of arcane magic popped into the air from them. "What can I help you with?"

Tyrael remained silent for a moment, taking as long as time permitted to study the wizard in front of him. Two decades had passed since they first met, and she barely looked a day over twenty. Perhaps, like Shanar, it was down to the blood of the nephalem that flowed through her veins. Perhaps becoming the Master of Death had prevented her from ageing at all. But one thing he did notice was the dark circles under her eyes. The tremble in her hands as she used both to cradle the mug. Despite her claims to the contrary, it was clear that Li-Ming was having trouble sleeping.

"Tyrael?" She asked, clicking her fingers in front of his eyes. "Hello?"

That she was trying to portray herself as the young woman she'd once been when they'd first met at New Tristram.

 _Then what are you now?_ He wondered, as Li-Ming took another sip from the mug. _What are you hiding?_

Perhaps she'd tell him. Most likely, she'd remain silent. Besides, he hadn't come here to check up on the one who bore the title of "the Nephalem." It was a pertinent line of inquiry, but the needs of the many outweighed the needs of the few. Or in this case, the one.

"We need you," Tyrael said.

"We?" Li-Ming asked. "We, as in, the Horadrim?"

Tyrael nodded.

"You still up to it then?" she sneered. "Fighting demons, imprisoning the Prime Evils, doing all that good stuff?"

"Not exactly, no," Tyrael said.

Something shone in Li-Ming's eyes. Something that Tyrael recognised as genuine interest.

"Oh?" she asked, trying to hide that interest. "Then what would that be?"

"In this day and age…" Tyrael looked down and rubbed his hands together, choosing his words carefully, "the greatest threat to Man…is mankind itself."

"Ah." Li-Ming took another sip from the drink and got to her feet. "I see."

"Li-Ming, I don't believe-"

"I hear things, Tyrael, even out here," she said. He watched as she poured herself more of the foul-smelling concoction. "Westmarch, Khanduras, Kehjistan…all left without kings and emperors, are they not? Savagery, anarchy, men killing men, women killing women, the breasts of babes torn asunder." She sat back down on the ground, facing the former archangel. "Anarchy, chaos, the world gone mad."

"In a sense…yes," he said.

"Oh." She took a sip of the liquid. "How boring."

Tyrael clenched his left fist. Below it was the hilt of El'druin. He didn't entertain using it, nor did he entertain the possibility that he could take Li-Ming in a fair fight. But he was, for the first time, reminded of the fact that he did carry a sword. And why he could no longer call Li-Ming a friend any more than any of the others who had fought alongside him. The ones who had disappeared into darkness and shadow, even as the lights of Sanctuary continued to fade out.

"Men are dying," Tyrael said. "Innocents are dying."

"And?" Li-Ming snapped. "What would you have me do about it."

"Something. Anything. The Horadrim are few in number, and-"

"The Horadrim…" Li-Ming took a swig of the concoction, "are a group of fools who were formed to fight demons, who are only now realizing that fighting against their fellow man is something entirely else." She sat the mug down on the ground, Tyrael noticing that she'd already finished it. "Is this your point of wisdom, Tyrael? Have you realized that mankind really is this ugly, blighted thing that perhaps should have been wiped out?"

Tyrael clenched his fist harder. "I don't believe that." Li-Ming got to her feet. "You don't believe that."

"I believe what my ears tell me," she grunted. She began pouring herself a third mug of the concoction.  
"And your eyes?" Tyrael asked.

"My eyes are fine."

"Your eyes are shut." He got to his feet. "What happened to you?"

"Gold and glory, fame and fortune."

"This isn't the person I knew all those years ago."

"Welcome to mortality. People change."

"If Leah could see you-"

"Don't!" Li-Ming threw the mug onto the ground, shattering it. Slowly, she turned to face the archangel. Slowly, he used his right hand to reach for El'druin…

"Don't…mention her name," Li-Ming whispered.

His hand never reached it. Seeing the face of the one before him, he knew that Li-Ming would do him no harm.

"Kormac, Lyndon, Eirena…" she whispered. "Speak not their names again."

"Li-Ming-"

"Do you know what happened to the last person who uttered Leah's name?" Li-Ming asked. "Shall I show you?"

Tyrael said nothing. He didn't want to see anything of the sort. What he wanted was to steer the conversation back to the matter of Sanctuary, and the chaos that was consuming it. But the waters of this conversation were flowing in one direction, and he couldn't help to swim against the tide. Not yet anyway.

"Here she is." Li-Ming pulled a curtain on the far end of the hut. It fell down, revealing a line of skulls. All but one of them from a demon. All but the one in the centre. The one whose skull was unmistakably human, yet had a pair of horns jutting out from its forehead. The one with wispy green hair hanging down over the bone.

"Adria?" Tyrael whispered.

"You recognise her?" Li-Ming looked up at the skull. "Hear that, witch? The angel recognises you."

"You…when you killed…"

"Did I take her skull?" Li-Ming snorted. "Not then, no. But I figured that as I saw the nature of the world, of what you wanted of me, I should have a trophy." She giggled. "Not many people go into Corvus, Tyrael. Her body was there waiting for me. Lots of body, but the skull was enough."

Tyrael didn't say anything. He felt no pity for Adria. But to have her skull displayed like this, alongside those spawned form the pits of Hell? It was macabre. Even Imperius's collection of 'trophies' had been displayed in a manner that did not dull the light of Heaven in his realm.

"This is the truth, isn't it?" Li-Ming whispered. "One after another, to kill and kill and kill…never ceasing, never questioning, from islands to temples, to Fate and beyond…that's what you wanted?"

"What I wanted?"

"What you wanted!" She took a step towards him, her fists clenched. "Did you know, Tyrael? When did you know?"

"Li-Ming-"

"When did you know?!" she yelled. "When did…when did you realize that it would be one thing after another…just killing, and killing, and killing…when did…" She trailed off, her eyes avoiding his. Tyrael could see that she was trembling.

"Get out," she whispered.

"Li-Ming-"

"Get out," she repeated. She slowly walked over to a mattress in the far corner of the room, fitted only with a pillow falling apart, and a sheet that was far too thin. "Take my gold, if you want Tyrael – use it to build a kingdom or something. I've got enough of it."

"Gold by itself-"

"What did you think was going to happen?" She laid down on the mattress, hand covering her eyes. "Am I some great uniter, Tyrael? Have I ever given you the slightest indication that I know how to do anything other than destroy? Have I ever rebuilt anything in this world?"

She hadn't, Tyrael reflected. Not that he held that against her, for indeed, as chaos gripped the world, as warlords established fiefdoms and brought death and ruin across their realms and those of their rivals, he himself was at a loss. Yet he had dared to hope that…

"You returning to the world would mean something," Tyrael said. "The Nephalem returned."

Li-Ming snorted.

"I think you underestimate the legend you created for yourself."

"And you overestimate my inclination to care." She shot up on the bed, sitting there. And when she talked, it was like a separate conversation altogether. "I see him, Tyrael. In my dreams."

"See him?" He knelt down beside her, ignoring the aching in his joints. "See who?"

"See him," she whispered, drawing the sheet up to her mouth, clenching her fist. "No trouble sleeping, no. But dreams…need to sleep so deeply that the dreams aren't there…but they're always there…" She met Tyrael's gaze, her eyes wide, and akin to that of a child. "It doesn't help, Tyrael. The brew? It doesn't help."

"Li-Ming-"

"It doesn't help!" She grabbed him by his shoulders. "In my dreams…no power there, you understand? If he returned, I would slay him, defeat him, but in dreams…he rules, you see? He's there. Everywhere. Inside my head. Won't leave." She let go of his shoulders, appearing to have calmed down…

"He won't leave!" She began to hit her head with both hands. "He's there! Diablo! He's there!"

Diablo. The name Tyrael had not heard spoken in years. Diablo. The Lord of Terror. The one who had been missing since Malthael shattered the Black Soulstone.

"You know, don't you?" Li-Ming whispered. She'd stopped hitting her head at least, but it was small comfort. "You knew…I would see him. You knew…you knew…"

"I didn't," he said.

"Liar." She lay down on the bed again. Put a hand over her eyes again. "Begone, Tyrael. By the rising of the sun, begone."

"Li-Ming-"

"If you stay, wake me," she murmured. "The dreams…you'll know when they start."

He did. Heavens help him, he did. He had seen the horrors that drove men mad. Had seen the results of that madness. And Diablo himself…not even angels had been immune to the mark of terror.

"Sleep now," he whispered. "I will be here when the sun rises."

She didn't say anything. She was asleep. For now, free of the demon that plagued her dreams. His mouth in frown, Tyrael rose to his feet, his eyes directed upwards to the line of skulls above him. Adria, most of all. The one who had sold her soul, and her own daughter, to the Prime Evil. The one who had sinned against herself, her child, and the world.

He spat at it.

* * *

 _A/N_

 _So going by the front cover of_ Book of Adria _, who took Adria's skull and put it on display?_

 _In-universe answer is likely the Nephalem. Out of universe answer is probably "doesn't matter, looks cool." Either way, drabbled this up._

 _Also, I'd say something about projections for_ Diablo IV _, but at this point in time, given recent statements from Blizzard, not expecting that to be revealed anytime soon._


End file.
